Montague Island had always been one of those places I somehow never got around to visiting, despite growing up not too far away. Maybe that’s why the drive down felt almost nostalgic — those winding, bumpy country roads curling through farmland and forest, the kind of landscape that makes you slow down without meaning to. By the time I rolled into Narooma and pulled up at the boat harbour, the morning air had that sharp coastal chill that wakes you up better than coffee.
I was so cold I’d already wriggled into my wetsuit before we even boarded the boat. Not my most glamorous moment, but definitely necessary.
Heading Out
The harbour was quiet but busy in that early-morning way — soft light, diesel hum, people wandering about with half-awake purpose. We loaded up, pushed off, and the boat cut across the water toward the island: a low, rugged shape rising out of the sea, ringed with whitewash and the unmistakable silhouettes of sun-soaked seals draped over the rocks. With their bellows — and the smell — they were impossible to miss.
As we prepared to jump in, my mask band snapped clean in half. I could’ve cried. Thankfully I’d packed a backup, and I silently thanked past me. That tiny bit of foresight saved the entire day — a reminder that it’s always worth lugging around extra gear.
Dropping Into the Blue
I was the first one in the water. It felt like falling into liquid glass.
Visibility stretched out to about twenty metres in a stunning crystal blue, and the sunlight carved bright pathways all the way down to the bottom — a bottom that, heartbreakingly, was almost entirely bare rock covered in urchins. Only small scraps of seagrass clung to the shoreline where the rocks met the water.
I’d heard Montague Island used to be covered in seagrass. Seeing so much bare rock and so little vegetation made me wonder what the area looked like years ago.
Sharks, a Grouper, and a Quiet Moment
We made our way toward the rocks where the seals were, watching fish drift past. A friendly blue grouper appeared early on and followed us around the rock, escorting us into a calmer bay like an oversized aquatic puppy.
Even though the trip was about the seals, I was secretly hoping to see a Port Jackson shark. About ten minutes in, the ocean teased me — a patterned shape slipping through the blue in the distance, there and gone before I could get a proper look.
But not long after, another one glided around a rock below me. I’d always imagined them bigger, but this one moved with the calm confidence of a creature that had nowhere important to be.
The Biggest Show-Offs in the Ocean
And then we rounded the corner and finally found the seals. Or maybe they found us.
They lounged on the rocks above and below the surface, flippers flapping, whiskers twitching, watching us with the same curiosity we had for them.
Suddenly it felt like I was no longer the one observing wildlife.
I was the entertainment.
They came in fast to check us out — twisting, darting, swimming right up with their mouths open before veering away at the last second like mischievous torpedoes. Others spiralled, rolled, and looped around us with the effortless confidence of animals who know exactly how adorable they are.
One launched off a rock and corkscrewed around us, while the younger seals hung around the group for ages, playing and spinning, their energy endless. The adults lounged nearby, sunning themselves like they’d seen it all before.
I spent most of the dive laughing inside my snorkel.
Feeding the Locals
One of the guides cracked open an urchin and handed it to me. I dove down and released the bright orange guts into the water — and instantly I was swarmed. Fish rushed in so fast they knocked the urchin shell out of my hand, a blur of scales and colour. The blue grouper muscled its way through the chaos like an old mate arriving late to a party.
For a moment, it felt like being part of the reef rather than a visitor.
Rays in the Shallows
After the ride back to Narooma, we pulled up at the boat ramp where fishermen were cleaning their catch, and big bull rays flapped around their feet, hoping for scraps. I asked if I could have some, and they handed over a pile without hesitation.
The rays glided in immediately — big, gentle shapes emerging from the shadows. Hand-feeding these beautiful animals has been one of my favourite things since childhood, and slipping back into that ritual felt like stepping into an old memory. They brushed around my ankles, soft and deliberate, lifting their faces toward my hands, demanding treats.
A massive southern eagle ray cruised past too, wings spanning wider than my outstretched arms. Seeing one that size was incredible.
I stayed there for ages, patting and feeding the rays as they circled, unhurried and unbothered, while the busy boat ramp bustled around me.
Heading Home
The drive back was just me replaying the whole day — the seals, the shark, the rays, all those urchins covering the rocks, and the shock of realising I’d grown up so close and never gone.
Montague Island won me over completely. I’d go back in a heartbeat. I will go back — every time I’m home, if I can.
For a place that had spent years sitting almost in my backyard, Montague Island made me wonder why I’d waited so long.
Interested in visiting Montague Island? Check out: Montague Island Snorkelling & Diving Guide
Check out the below video for highlights of diving on the South Coast of New South Whales
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